


Seven Deadly Sins

by Morgana_Ren



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/M, Misogyny, Obsession, One-Sided Attraction, Possession Kink, Sexual Harassment, Sort Of, Stalking, Threatening, Typical Legion dickery, Vulpes is not nice, Vulpes wants his profligate courier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-01
Packaged: 2019-09-02 22:38:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16796062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgana_Ren/pseuds/Morgana_Ren
Summary: Vulpes Inculta was the greatest of Caesar's Frumentarii, most clever of all his agents. He never questioned, never faltered. Nothing led him astray, his life and body existing solely for the glory of the Son of Mars. Ready to fight and die at his Lord's command without a second thought, his entire life comprised of nothing but the Legion.At least until that courier. The courier who was sin incarnate, sent from the Gods themselves to test him. He wanted her, and Vulpes was a man who always got what he wanted, no matter what anyone, including her, had to say about it.





	Seven Deadly Sins

**Author's Note:**

> Lord help me, I'm back on my bullshit.
> 
> morgana-ren.tumblr.com  
> If you're into that sort of thing.

It was the duty of the Frumentarii to become adept in manipulation. To see the unseen, hear the whisperings of the dissolute, to unlock long forgotten doors. At all this, Vulpes was a master. He could blend with the profligates, move amongst them as one of their own. Gain their trust, earn their loyalty, seduce their women, wear his deception like a second skin. It was standard, all part of his job. He had never hesitated at any of it, playing the part with ease for the honor of Caesar. He masterminded the demise of hundreds, a whirlwind of death and decay left in his wake. Rumors of his cruelty spanned the territories as effortlessly as the wind.

The Monster of the Mojave.

A demon haunting the wasteland, ensuring the trees had eyes and the walls had ears. No one was safe, no secret secure. Not when he marked them. It was simple to him, as it had been all his life. As natural as his own heartbeat. He never questioned, never faltered. Nothing led him astray, his life and body existing solely for the glory of the Son of Mars.

Nothing until that fucking courier. The courier who was sin incarnate, sent from the Gods themselves to test him. He would come to understand this as well.

The first time he saw her, he didn’t comprehend it. Small and feral, as threatening as a rat. But something stirred under the surface. Something waiting to emerge, to erupt like a caldera, scorching all in its path.

Wrath.

Bold, foolhardy even, prepared to draw her weak pistol with quivering hands upon them at the site of the slaughter at Nipton. Fingers twitching and ready, even if it meant her immediate death at the hands of his men. Hate and rage causing her feeble body to tremble in righteous indignation. She longed to kill them all, avenge the horrors before her eyes, the message of which her simple mind couldn’t understand. This all assuming she could land a shot in her current condition, which wasn’t likely judging by the slack in her gait and the starved look in her eyes. Even behind the Stetson she bore, he could see her fear, but also resolve. She would die here and now if fate demanded it.

He took responsibility for the massacre by stepping forth, signaling is subordinates to stay their place. She was weak and ill of mind, with cracked lips and skin brutalized by the Mojave sun, but still ready to die for a cause. He admired that. Something to kill for. Something to die for. Something she believed in on instinct. This he understood, even if she was sorely misguided. She was, after all, a female, and her biology is what drove her to compassion and healing. Her kind weren’t meant for the brutality and death of the profligate soldiers. It made them hysterical, wild and terrified. Women were too fragile and weak. They had other uses. She would learn in time, but for now, she would carry his message.

Despite a voice in his head, he let her live.

The second time he laid eyes on her, she was vastly different. Another sin entirely. Pride.

Waltzed into the lucky 38, knowing full well the effect it would have around her. She pretended not to notice the gawks of the denizens that wandered the strip in search of their vice, frozen with curiosity as she ascended the steps. For as long as anyone could remember, the Lucky 38 had been vaulted off to the outside world, knowing the only inhabitant it’s ever known. Regardless, she strode with a high head up the brightly lit stairs like it had been expecting her for a millennium. As if intrigued by her confidence, the gate opened for the first time since before the Great War. Little was she aware, it wasn’t the only thing that was interested in her.

He watched with furrowed brow behind a magazine. His Frumentarii had been searching for a way to infiltrate that cesspit for ages, yet she simply stumbled in with dirty boots and not a cap to her name like it was a second home to her. This would be of great use to the Caesar. She had been a busy little dissolute since he had last seen her, causing trouble and sewing discord among his men for some time. First by freeing the degenerate tribals that Nike had enslaved, killing him and his men in the process. She then proceeded to aid the NCR in their retake of Nelson, freeing the profligate troops and ending the life of Dead Sea, a favored Decanus. Not to mention the many patrols that met their end at the end of the barrel of her revolver.

Vulpes had his eyes upon her for a long while. It was clear he had made a foolish mistake in underestimating the girl from Nipton and pegging her as a simple wastrel, bound to perish at the hands of the desert. She was his responsibility, after all. Upon sparing her life, it had become his to mind, or that’s how he viewed things. It had taken him by surprise, finding out that the same broken-down girl who was close to death as she limped toward the outpost was the one raising hell for him now. The Mojave had a way of changing people, molding them from its cruelty if they wished to survive. Clearly, she was no exception.

A merciless killer with a disposition to match, the revolver at her side ending the lives of anyone unfortunate to cross her. Bandits and raiders had learned to think twice before attempting an ambush, stories of her savage executions becoming ghost stories told around campfires. It was said she clawed her way out of hell fueled by pure malice and a thirst for blood, leaving a trail of corpses behind her as she trekked the sands. That the bullet had made her a little wrong in the head. That she was immortal, the very spirit of death made human.

Vulpes knew better. She was no mythical monster, no terrifying specter. She was a dirty, hungry young woman, her heart poisoned with anger and a mind hellbent on revenge. She killed for a purpose, for survival, and simply had a talent for it. She spilled no blood that was unnecessary, though when she did, there was little left of those who had come for her. She kept a fearsome bloodlust caged, contained by what was left of the decaying sense of morality she possessed. It was only unleashed upon those who attempted to keep her from her goal, and noticeably, any legionaries she came across.

Perhaps he had made more of an impression on her than he initially thought.

He watched her, shadowing her movements, never letting her leave his sight. Vile little thing. Gluttonous.

She ate everything she could afford, trying to fill the deep hunger in her belly that had developed after many months of starving in the shifting dirt that was the vast wasteland. Vulpes scowled as he watched her devour and consume, feeling the rumble in his own abdomen. Only a degenerate would ever foolishly try to end the feeling of emptiness. They did not understand that the pain of want was a strength. It was a constant reminder of what he fought for. Contentment was weakness, and if you were sated, you were never truly happy. You were a slave to your own needs, filling holes in a never-ending cycle of consumption.

She doused her twilight hours in alcohol. Dusty, tangled hair pushed carelessly back over her shoulders with her face still concealed behind that ragged old cowboy hat. She kept her long black duster tucked around her like a shield, warning off any company that might have found her agreeable for the evening. She kept to herself and expected others to do the same, ending her nights alone by stumbling back to the Lucky 38 and retreating until midafternoon the following day.

She would be an easy target, if the time came. But he was here to watch and learn. Not assassinate. Not yet.

Greedy woman. Taking more than her share and reveling in her treasures. Disgusting.

Smart and lucky enough to rig the odds in her favor at the casinos. She took the caps, grinning like a fox at her dismayed opponents. She held no mercy for them, taking the lead time and time again until they eventually would boot her out, simmering over their losses. He noted her cunning but admonished her habit. He would admit, she was certainly cleverer than the average profligate, let alone a _woman_. She could read their faces, see their body language and the way they moved and base her reaction on it, all while hiding her own weaknesses behind a curtain of hair and the brim of a hat. A habit she no doubt initially developed in the desert to keep her safe, now being used for self-gain and avarice.

What a waste of potential.

She used her earnings for protection. Better bullets for her gun, more durable armor, plenty of stimpacks and Med-X. She was gearing up for something, paranoid or possibly afraid. It was justified, as legionary assassins loomed just outside the walls, orders to kill if she left the safety of New Vegas, as well as many others she had angered who were biding time until the chance to snuff her out arose. She often practiced her shooting and defensive techniques, buying books on various subjects not befitting a female. Explosives, sciences, even lock manuals. She was becoming a problematic target for the Frumentarii.

Lazy, slothful degenerate.

She didn’t leave the Lucky 38 for days at a time. Sleeping her pain away, or possibly hiding from the horror of the world. She held herself in the safety of her ivory tower, where not even the hand of the mighty Caesar could reach her. Not yet. But Vulpes knew she would emerge eventually. A gilded cage was still a cage, and this woman did not do well trapped in stone walls. The Mojave, for all the death and decay it offered, was still her home, and the wanderlust that gripped her was like his own. As time passed, she would go stir crazy, and sure as the sun rose, she would emerge again, heading into whatever den of iniquity she deemed appropriate for the night.

And he would follow. He would always follow.

It was the command of Caesar. He watched and listened, hearing her every word and stalking her every movement. He knew her better than she knew herself at this rate. Not that it was saying much, seeing as she didn’t know herself at all. From what he had gathered, she had been a courier with a delivery that had gone terribly wrong and nearly ended up dead for it. Some savage tribe leader masquerading as a pit boss for a casino had somehow botched her execution and taken her package. A grave mistake, it seemed.

She had hauled herself out of her own grave with soiled nails by the bootstraps and came gunning for revenge. A whirlwind of bullets and chaos followed her as she stalked across the irradiated Midwest, carving her name in the sand until it turned to stone. Caesar was wise to not have her killed here, as she could prove most valuable. Since her cold exterior didn’t overrule her bleeding heart, she was popular with many small towns and settlements across the vast expanse, having taken their petty problems on as her own. Perhaps if she could come to sympathize with their cause, more could be persuaded to aid the Legion instead of being annihilated entirely as Nipton was.

A silver tongue and a mind like a whip that was easily double the average wastrel had carried her far, but when all else failed, the gun at her hip had the final say. It didn’t hurt that the filthy philistines that dominated the west became a malleable pack of drooling mongrels for a woman who didn’t look like she’d been mauled by a Deathclaw three times over. Haggardness was a common sight in the Mojave, and true beauty was a sight that was few and far between, since the most attractive the region had to offer were often the slopped-up whores at Gomorrah.

But she was not haggard, and no amount of icy demeanor or dirt could hide her allure, although only a fool would try to tame it for his own.

Still wild, still feral, though now she presented a more serious threat. She was iron and steel, with eyes frigid as a tundra wind. She was not open, nor was she approachable like many of the women of New Vegas. ‘Like a rose with too many damn thorns to pick’ a member of the tribals called the Kings had once said. She was a mystery, wasting no words, yet still expressing volumes. One giant caution sign. Vulpes was reluctant to admit it had frustrated him on more than one occasion. She smoked and drank and indulged in vices that branded profligates irredeemable, but she moved like a woman with purpose and her face had the stink of destiny about it. Something that refused to allow him to despise her.

As he followed her, he came to realize he had come to see her as more than a target. He felt as though he _knew_ her. They had spoken only once before, yet he felt as though he knew her intimately. He knew she preferred vodka, and whiskey gave her heartburn. He knew she named her gun ‘The Profit’, a play on words as she had taken it off the corpse of a thief masquerading as a cult leader. He knew she picked her lips as a nervous habit, often leaving them scabbed and bloodied. She was a degenerate, but he felt a strange attachment to her now, and he realized that eventually, Caesar would make a decision concerning her fate.

She would make for a poor slave, with a will that stood strong and a penchant for escaping death, and it would be a shame to squander her skills. Even if she was a woman. If she behaved and submitted to the Legion, she would likely be made a wife of a higher-ranking Legionary, something considered an honor. On occasion, Vulpes allowed his mind to wander, curious who it might be. Perhaps Lucius, who had few heirs of his own. Less likely Lanius, who was more apt to slaves, bending and burning them until they broke. Needless to say, they never lasted long enough to bear children. That rabid cur didn’t deserve her anyhow.

Perhaps himself? It got him thinking, and the more he thought, the more he warmed up to the idea more as he pondered.

She could birth him many fine sons. Her strength, resilience, and cleverness passed on to their offspring alongside his own would make them fine future Frumentarii indeed. Once a woman had been married to an officer, she was untouchable by other men unless her husband offered her up. He would do no such thing. He was not a man who shared his property. With no taint in his bloodline, the warriors birthed from her hips would be second to none, with the exception of Caesar’s own spawn. Save the Caesar had no heir, and no wife to speak of.

…Would Caesar claim her?

It was a possibility. He had personal slaves and concubines, but none that he deemed worthy enough to make his wife and carry on his lineage. This courier was certain to be considered. There was the rare mark of reverence when he had told Vulpes to shadow her, having accomplished so much in so little time, even if it was against their own forces.

“There is no dishonor in losing to a worthy opponent. If the men fell at her hands, they were not worthy of the Legion. She has done us a service.” Caesar remarked. “Perhaps she has been blessed by Venus, a gift in disguise sent to aid our conquest. Maybe she only need be persuaded, gently reminded of her true purpose.”

Vulpes considered this. If Caesar laid mark to this woman, he would honor it. But some small, dark part of him hoped that he didn’t. The realization that he truly wanted her for himself nearly made him sick.

Sick with envy at the possibility that any man might lay claim to her before himself. It was a startling realization. One that made itself permanent on the night she made her move on the Tops.

When she exited the Lucky 38 that evening, she was not clad in the ebony duster, and the threadbare hat no longer shrouded her features. For the first time, he could see her in all her glory. Long, thick tendrils of lustrous hair flowed freely, blowing gently in the desert breeze. Dark lacquered eyes that reeked of bloodlust with lips lined Legion red. His heart nearly stopped beating in his chest. He ached, longing to sink his claws in and claim her, shield her magnificence from the world and hoard it for himself.

Death was coming for someone tonight. Death was coming, and she was disguised as a goddess.

She maneuvered through the gates, sparing no one a second glance. He stalked her silently, watching as she entered the Tops. Tonight was the night. She would seek her vengeance on the man who had gifted her two bullets to the head, returning the favor tenfold.

Observing as the Chairmen guard confiscated her gun, he noticed a slight protrusion around her thigh. She likely had a knife tucked away in her garter belt, a knife that would taste blood by the end of the evening. Lack of weaponry wouldn’t stop her. She would claw his eyes out with her bare hands if it came down to it. They were fools for even trying.

She sweet talked the man at the desk for a few brief moments, grinning at his terrible flirtatious remarks, running her fingers along his hand, laughing and giggling with fervor. Only she wasn’t smiling, not in the traditional sense. Vulpes was no stranger to the look on her face. Her teeth were bared, yes, but not in pleasure. She was snarling, almost daring the man to get in her way at the risk of his yielding throat. Only she and Vulpes knew it to be a threat, where the simpleton before her mistook her exposed canines as favor.

Caught in a daze of desire, the imbecile sold out his boss with almost no forethought, failing to see he had just signed his death warrant. She thanked him, the act immediately dropping from her features as she turned from him, the look of geniality on her face swiftly replaced with a sneer of annoyance. Vulpes felt his own lips curl in condescension at the man.

The boss in the hideous checkered suit, Benny, was her mark, and she had built herself to be the perfect weapon. She caught his eye as she sauntered toward him, a small smile playing on her features, eyes lidded and inviting. A look the Frumentarius knew well. It was the look he donned when he was about to earn the favor of a woman. She was going to seduce him.

It was a smart move, to be sure. Benny was licentious and arrogant, a deadly combination when it came to an enticing woman with bad intentions. In fact, it might be the only way she would walk out of this casino alive, since Benny had surrounded himself with a fair amount of body guards, all of which were carrying some very large guns. It was only with Benny’s say that they wouldn’t riddle her full of bullet holes a second time.

From his position at a slot machine, he couldn’t hear what was being said, but he could tell that whatever lies she was weaving were extremely effective. Benny had gone from looking like he’d seen a ghost, to confused, to very blatantly aroused, a noticeable bulge growing visible in his slacks. She leaned into him, licking her lips and running her nail down his cheek and whispering in his ear. After a few moments, he placed his arm around her waist, hand creeping lower as they walked, tugging her along and up the steps toward the elevators.

Hook, line, and sinker.

As Vulpes watched him lead her away, he felt a strange litany of emotions, most notably one he couldn’t quite place. A wave of rage washed over him as he watched Benny grope her as they walked, his hands caressing over her curves and tracing along her skin. Her giggle as she ran her hand down the lapels of his blazer. He wanted to kill him. He wanted to kill them both. Break Benny’s fingers one by one and feed them to him for touching her. Cut the smile from her face for letting him defile her. Letting that unworthy _filth_ sully her. It was the first time he ever let emotions override his better judgement.

He shoved himself away from the slot machine he had been loitering at, stalking towards the stairs instead. He had his orders. Once she made a move on Benny, she was to receive the Mark of Caesar and an invitation to Fortification Hill. She had made her move. It wouldn’t be long now before Benny laid lifeless at her feet. He would follow them up to Benny’s suite to make sure she didn’t escape without his notice.

Yes, that was why.

After he arrived on the 13th floor, he stalked around outside the double doors for a moment. He could hear muffled voices, but no grunting, no moaning. Nothing to indicate that things had escalated between the two of them, nothing indicating that her affections for Benny had been genuine. This continued for a while, only words spoken behind a locked door. No doubt her demanding answers, coaxing them from him before revealing her black widow nature and rending his head from his shoulders.

He felt shame for the first time in a long time his hasty actions. He had never lost his composure before. Not to mention, he knew his little courier well. She would never let someone like Benny touch her. It was a ruse to get close to him and nothing more. He was even more disturbed by the blind anger he felt at seeing her with another man. She didn’t belong to him, he reminded himself. She wasn’t his to possess. Regardless, he coveted her with a need that bordered on violent. This much he understood now. This both riled and terrified him. He had always kept himself from getting distracted by carnal desires, as it served only to slacken his resolve. He prided himself on being dedicated solely to Caesar, disregarding all other pleasures life had to offer. This avarice, this _jealousy_ he felt over the profligate courier was alarming.

He raked his brain, coming to terms with this new barrage of emotions. It was only natural, he supposed, as he had been following her for some time now, her being the sole target of his focus. It was to be expected that he would develop some manner of appreciation of her. His life, of late, had revolved around nothing but her. He came to understand that his slight admiration had transformed into another monster entirely.

Lust. He desired her.

Impossible. Soon she would bear the Mark of Caesar and would be untouchable to him or any other Legion man until such a time as Caesar decided otherwise. Unless she consented to him, which she would likely never do. She loathed the Legion, and with it, him. She wasn’t likely to spread her legs for someone she despised. It would be a chore getting her to accept the invitation and making sure she came to their camp to meet with Caesar as it was, something he hadn’t quite figured out how to do yet. He ground his teeth in frustration, beginning to regret his work for the first time in his existence.

He finally settled in to a sofa not far from the elevator, pretending to read a magazine once again while he waited for the courier to conclude her ‘business’ with Benny, doing his best to drown out the mild panic he was feeling from his new-found revelations. Time passed, and he settled in, allowing his back to slack into the chair, crossing his legs, tapping his feet, thinking of how he was going to ensure that the courier met with Caesar despite her blatant disregard for the Legion and their ideals. Distracting himself with work. Anything to keep himself from thinking about the fact that his courier was alone in a bedroom with that perverted miscreant Benny.

It seemed like eons before he finally heard it. The near silent click of a lock, and the slight squeal of an opening door. He flicked his eyes upward, never moving the magazine from his face. Sure enough, he saw her, slinking out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind her while sliding something small inside the top of her dress, concealing it from view. She was still in perfect order, clothing still in place and no visible signs of disheveling, but the small swath of blood on her dress didn’t escape his notice.

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. Good girl.

She continued down the hall and towards the elevators, and her eyes met his for only a few seconds as she walked. Her face betrayed nothing, a perfect mask of impassiveness, but she couldn’t hide the sheen of victory in her eyes. She was in the elevator with the door closing before she allowed herself a smug smile, wiping the bloodied blade on her dress before tucking it back in to her garter belt.

He waited for the rumble of the elevator before darting for the stairs. It was time. With Benny dead and her guard down, it was the most opportune time to meet with her before she disappeared inside the Lucky 38 again for Mars knows how long. Perhaps with her spirits high, she might be willing to hear him out on an allegiance with the Legion. He wouldn’t count on it, but a man could hope. He felt a strange sense of elation, all these months of watching and observing finally culminating in this moment.

He exited the stairwell just in time to see her nodding goodnight to the Chairmen at the front desk, all of whom were completely unaware that their boss was currently laying in a pool of his own blood several floors above them. He kept pace, slowly gaining on her as she exited the Tops, determined to catch her alone if possible. He was surprised, however, when instead of turning in the direction of the Lucky 38, she instead turned the opposite way, heading toward the more deserted area of the New Vegas strip. Leaving the casino himself, he watched as she turned into an alleyway on the side of the building.

Even better, he thought. He was sure to have a private audience with her there.

He crept toward the entrance of the alleyway, moving to retrieve the Mark from his pocket, preparing his speech in his head, thinking of the ways to best word it to appeal to her. However, he was caught off guard when as he approached the alcove, a hand shot from the darkness, twisting itself in his collar and tie and yanked him into the confines, pushing him against the wall. He felt the distinct nip of sharpened steel at his neck and acknowledged she got the drop on him. He cursed himself in his head for allowing himself to get so distracted.

“You’ve been following me.” The courier stated matter-of-factly, not giving him a chance to talk his way out. Even in the darkness, he could see her eyes narrowed on him, weapon poised to strike. “I’ve seen you. For months, I’ve seen you here watching me.”

“Yes.” He replied, voice smooth as silk. He knew she wasn’t one to needlessly attack. Not when she wanted answers. Answers he had.

“Why?” Snarling, she dug her nails into his chest, twisting his shirt in her hands.

He only smiled, a cat allowing the canary a momentary upper hand. “Tell me, do you often carry on conversations at knifepoint? I find it distracting, personally.”

“More often than I’d like.” Her lip twitched. “Especially with scum like you around to ensure that I never feel at peace.”

“I assure you, it’s not necessary in this case.” He studied her stance, easily finding a weakness.

“Oh, I’d say it is.” She pushed the knife slightly deeper, furthering her point.

Vulpes felt a slight tick of annoyance and resisted the urge to sigh. “Remove the knife, courier. I mean you no harm.”

Her eyes scanned him for a moment and he could see the wheels in her head turning. She knew she recognized him, but she wasn’t entirely sure from where yet. Deciding to air on the side of caution, she refused. “I don’t think so.”

“Very well, have it your way.” He smiled pleasantly at her before booting her in the stomach, which sent her reeling backwards into the alternate wall. She was momentarily dazed, and he took the opportunity to seize the hand with the knife, twisting her wrist backwards until her grip loosened and he claimed the weapon for his own. His other hand found her neck and firmly clamped around it as he successfully reversed their positions, pushing her against the wall in turn.

He placed the knife at her neck, watching the flash of panic wash over her face as she realized exactly what had happened. She was good, he would give her that, but no match for a lifetime of training.

“Who are you and what the fuck do you want?” She spat, attempting to edge away from the blade.

“I’m disappointed that you don’t recognize me. I believed you to be more perceptive than that, although I suppose it’s to be expected, since I am out of my uniform.” He waited a few seconds before speaking again, letting his words sink in. “We’ve met before, courier. At Nipton, I believe.”

He could feel her pulse in his hand, heart hammering away inside her chest. Hatred and dread swirling in the pit of her stomach. “You!”

“Vulpes Inculta, greatest of Caesar’s Frumentarii.” He corrected her.

She rolled her eyes despite the anxiety pulsing, the bile clawing up her throat. “And you said I didn’t need a knife for the occasion.” She tried to push him off, but he tightened his grip on her throat and flashed the blade in warning, pushing her against the wall as he pressed his chest harder against hers. “What do you want from me, Legion mongrel?”

“The eyes of the mighty Caesar are upon you. He admires your accomplishments, and bestows upon you the exceptional gift of his Mark. Your various crimes against the Legion are hereby forgiven. Understand that he will not extend this mercy a second time.” He spoke softly into her ear, lowering his voice in case of any nosy passersby. Goosebumps trailed up her skin as his warm breath flowed across her neck, and she shivered against him. He pushed his face closer to the crook of her neck to hide his pleasure as she quivered against him. “My Lord requires your presence at his camp at Fortification Hill. The Mark will guarantee your safe-conduct through our lands.”

“Do you think me naïve and foolish, Vulpes Inculta?” His name on her lips filled him with a strange animalistic instinct, and he had to forcibly keep himself from sinking his teeth into her skin and marking her then and there. “After all the crimes I’ve perpetrated against your Legion, I might arrive at your camp in one piece, but I certainly wouldn’t leave in one. You would have me waltz in to my own grave.”

“Caesar does not lie, unlike your profligate leaders. If he promises your safety, you shall have it.” He inhaled her hair as subtly as possible, taking in her scent. She smelled of the desert, of winds and sand and something vaguely metallic. She smelled of victory and death. His own personal aphrodisiac. He felt his trousers begin tightening and pulled slightly away from her to hide his arousal. “You have my word as well that no one shall touch you.”

A promise he meant. If anyone but Caesar laid a hand on this woman, Nipton would become a mere footnote on his length of atrocities. She was _his_.

“Your word means nothing to me!” She hissed, attempting again to shove him off her to no avail. “The Legion is nothing but murdering, slaving, raping vermin, and you’re the worst of the lot!”

He chuckled darkly under his breath, her fire renewing his own. “I won’t deny, I have done all of those things to excess, but the fact that you’re still alive speaks to my control.”

“Control?” Her voice raised, and he pushed the knife slightly harder against the soft skin of her throat in an unspoken warning as a Securitron rolled by the entrance to the alleyway, waiting for it to pass before turning back to her and allowing her to speak. “You know nothing of control! I know you, Vulpes Inculta. I know the things you have done, the horrors committed at your command. You know nothing of control. You’re a rabid dog with too long a leash and a master with no mind to reel you in!”

He let her words settle for a moment before reacting, a sick sense of glee radiating through him at her growing discomfort as his voice turned to ice, all pretense of civility gone. “Is that what you think, little courier? That I have no control?” He thrust his hips against her, rutting slightly and allowing her to feel the hardness concealed behind his slacks. Horror and disgust spread across her features, feeling his throbbing length against her stomach. It only served to arouse him further.

“Had I no control, I assure you that you’d be on the ground spreading your legs for me whether you wanted it or not.” He tightened the hand on her throat, beginning to cut off her airway. “Had I no control, I’d have taken this little play-knife you dared to threaten me with and carved my name in your back.” Bringing his head closer to hers, he bit down on her earlobe, eliciting a small cry of pain. “Had I no control, you’d have long ago been claimed by me, tied to my bed with my brand on your hip. My own personal little concubine. I imagine I even could have broken you by now. It’s only by Caesar’s orders that I haven’t done so already.”

He felt her swallow against his palm, her breathing erratic and staggered. She was afraid, unsure of whether or not she’d survive this encounter. Good.

“So, I ask again, courier. You still believe I have no control?” He allowed the hand around her throat to slacken, slowly trailing down her chest and resting atop her dress, fingers threateningly dipping down into the valley between her breasts. She was too shocked or scared to move for several moments, staring wide into his eyes, waiting for him to end her. When he didn’t, she gathered all the courage she could, finally bringing herself to speak.

“Give me the Mark, Inculta, and get the fuck off the strip before I put a bullet between your eyes.” Brave bravado with no real threat behind them. She was exactly where he wanted her. Terrified and malleable, paralyzed in his gaze.

“So, you accept his gracious gift and invitation?” He pulled his hand away from her dress, reaching into his pocket and pulling the Mark from it instead.

“Yeah, whatever, now get off of me.” She growled, giving him a final shove, and he allowed himself to be pushed backward off her. She held out her slightly trembling hand, staring him down the best she could. He gave her a lupine smile as he pressed the small golden token into her waiting palm.

“I suspect we’ll be seeing you soon. I bid you Vale until we meet again, courier.” He didn’t wait for her to reply before he turned on his heel and walked out of the alley, leaving her in frozen in place to recover from their meeting.

As it stood, there was absolutely no way she’d ever make the journey to Fortification Hill. He knew that in her head, she was cursing him in every language she knew with words unbefitting a woman, calling him every name her little mind could conceive. She would keep the Mark, planning to use it as a shield against the Legion until she unveiled whatever great plan she was brewing. The way she saw it, she would never meet with Caesar, and she’d have a nice little token of his esteem to keep her safe until she could destroy them entirely.

But there’s a reason the saying is ‘clever as a fox.’

As he exited the gates to the strip, he reached his hand back down into his pocket, pulling out the platinum chip. He held it up, examining it in the light. He wasn’t entirely sure what it was, only that it was the only thing in the world that had any value to her. Her beloved delivery was now in his hands, and only moments after she had reclaimed it from the man who had stolen it in the first place. Vulpes imagined her face when she finally undressed and discovered it missing. She had been so distracted by her fear of him, she hadn’t noticed when he retrieved it from her cleavage. He resisted the urge to laugh as he pictured her face contorting in rage when she finally understood what happened.

She would come to meet with the Caesar. Of this, she had no choice. If she wanted her precious chip back, she would come, and he knew she would. After all, the courier did not take well to being snubbed. Evidence of that took the form of a still-warm corpse in the suite thirteen floors up. He looked forward to seeing her again.

That courier was sin, leading him astray from the path. Baiting him, taunting him, foolishly testing his restraint. A daughter of Venus come to lay waste to the virtues of Mars, but he would not let her. Like all her kind, she would submit before him, before the glory of the Legion. He would make sure of it. After all, Caesar often spoke with concern about how he had not yet chosen a wife or fathered any sons. Caesar would grant him this one thing. He would be so elated at the prospect of Vulpes’ future sons that surely he would gift the courier to him.

He would make sure he was the one to break her. She was his, and in time, he would make sure she understood that.

**Author's Note:**

> I love me some Vulpes Inculta. You listen to that voice and tell me you don't want that man to narrate your life. Or raw you. Whatever.


End file.
